This is an excerpt from an upcoming Splintered Lands story titled Kingdoms in Conflict.

Iudas grumbled when he looked out at the scene before him. It was all just taking too long. Too damn long.

“Gather up those bloody peasants!”

Hearing his voice becoming annoyed, his men moved faster. They had long ago learned what Iudas’s annoyance could do to a person. Soon enough, the villagers had been gathered in from all the little farms that surrounded the hamlet, and tucked into a small mass in front of Iudas. He sighed at the pitiful looks and thin bodies. What a worthless lot of cretins he ruled.

“You have been selected to join me, to fight for me, as we wage war on the horrid beast Inswán! He has invaded our lands, burned down our villages, slain our people! He sends spies to take what little we have, to steal from us! Now we bring him retribution. And you shall be the agents of our retribution!”

One of the peasants looked around, raised a hand, and spoke. “Begging your pardon, lord, but we aren’t much of a retribution. We’re just poor farmers.”

Iudas gestured. A soldier rammed a dagger into the peasant’s gut, then ripped it sideways.

“Anyone else want to interrupt me?”

The peasants cowered in fear.

“You’re learning. Good. That puts you above the village of idiots I burned down. With them inside of it, mind you.” Iudas took a slug of wine from a skin hanging off his saddle. “Soldiers, you know the drill.”

The healthy men were separated out from the rest, and a small cadre lead them off at a fast march, heading in the direction of Gárhéap, Iudas’s capital. There they would be given basic weaponry and training. Very basic, sadly, much as Iudas wished he could do better. But his lands were poor in metal, and what little he had was not going to be wasted on illiterate peasants. They would be little more than fodder against the walls of Abboddóm, anyway.

Once the new recruits were safely out of earshot, the remaining soldiers started pulling attractive women from amongst the rest who stood there. This was their reward, taken from every village captured. The prettiest of them all went to Iudas, although he thought that wasn’t saying much. Mud-covered farm peasants weren’t really his type, but he made do with what he could find on campaign. It was mostly just a form of tithing, anyway.

Shouts and cries began to echo around the little village. Iudas listened for a moment, then nodded. His men had been given strict orders to impregnate as many of the women as possible, rather than to harm them. After all, the world contained far too few people. The Breaking and the plagues that had followed has seen to that.

Pondering over what might have been if the world still stood as it once had, he took the peasant girl by the arm and lead her into a hovel. He was feeling gentle today. Mostly.

Tags: Other Writing

I’ve finished the rewrite. The story now clocks in just a shade under 104,000 words. And it’s a hell of a lot better than it was before this whole process started. For the first time in a while, I’m looking forward to editing it and getting it out the door, because now I think I have a story that’s worth publishing. Of course, I’m sure I’ll turn into a pessimist as soon as I go back for another round of edits, but that’s a long way off.

For now, I’m just going to spend the weekend basking in the fact I’ve ‘finished’ another novel. But before I go, here’s the opening page.

Chloddio’s hammer crashed against the shield of his instructor, a muffled thud as the training weapon impacted solid metal. Chloddio followed with a sweeping strike, coming in high and from the right, aimed at the side of Cavrel’s head. The instructor’s shield rose as he ducked slightly, and the blow glanced away, momentum carrying the warhammer above his helmet. Chloddio threw his strength into reversing the strike, pulling it into a backhand aimed at Cavrel’s skull. A frown spread across the instructor’s features as his weapon came across, the cloth-swathed head slamming into the haft of Chloddio’s weapon, knocking it flying.

“You are a dead man Chloddio. Again. A sweeping side-arm blow with a warhammer? I could have stepped inside and gutted you. I just chose to knock it high and then disarm you. It’s flashier, and it proves a point. Either way, you’re dead. You use great swinging strikes, building from your shoulder. I’m not a rock, and will not meekly stand still while you mine me. Those spikes” Cavrel pointed at the top of Chloddio’s weapon, lying on the dirt. “are not simply for decoration. Use them to thrust or backhand, a change of direction, anything aside from your continual hammering. Subtlety in combat will save your life.”

Cavrel paused, looking at the warhammer on the ground, then back at Chloddio. “Another thing: This is a battle, not a show. You flourish. You wave your weapon above your head as if that will inflict damage. It’s costing you here in the training ring, and it will cost you more when someone doesn’t fight fair and kicks you in the groin. At least you wear armour reasonably well. Means you’ll last a few moments more in a fight, but only a few moments.”

“Gather your gear, put it back in the armoury and go home.” Cavrel sighed. “I’ll get nothing further from you today. Remember to be here by sun-up tomorrow, we’re working on squad tactics and marching.”

“Yes sir. By sun-up.” Picking up his hammer from the ground and shouldering his shield, Chloddio jogged to the armoury, handing the tools of his new trade to the weaponsmith who prepared them each morning. Two assistants helped Chloddio out of the heavy practice armour, thick padding overlaid with metal and stone layers, added weight to make real armour feel light and free.

One of them tapped the cuirass. “You should be more careful with this, you know. It’s getting more costly to repair it or replace it.”

“More costly? Why so?”

“Well, you hear there’s been a mine collapse or two? Seems that with those mines shut down, the price of ore and the ironstone we use to make the armour is going up. Quite a bit.”

Chloddio knew the mine collapses all too well. He had been the lead safety engineer at the first, tasked with examining the tunnels and caverns for collapse, and shoring them up when there was any danger. And he’d failed. A large fall had sealed the entire mine, and killed everyone in it, despite all that he could do. And only two weeks after that failing, another mine had shut down. Owned by a friend of Joestin Hogof, the man who had once employed Chloddio.

“But that’s only two mines. There’s dozens all around Tri-Hauwcerton.”

“You say that, but it turns out most of those other mines don’t produce consistent enough quality for our blacksmiths to buy from them. There’s only six that the quartermaster approves, and two of those six are closed for months. I’m even hearing rumours one of them would be closed permanently, that the collapse fractured an underground river.”

“Which one is that?”

“Can’t tell you. Rumour doesn’t say.”

The recruit shook his head. “Well, its not me you should be worrying about. It’s all those veterans who take delight in knocking me on my ass.”

“You’re the one with the shield sweetie. Use it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Kid, I’ve been caring for this armour for twenty years. I know exactly how easy it is. And you just better start learning, otherwise you’ll be going out in armour that’s going to crumble. We’re using up all our repair budget keeping the real suits together. Practice armour’s at the bottom of our list.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll do my best.”

“From the looks of this, you need to do a lot better than that.”

“Enough already. I get ground down by Cavrel as it is.”

“Cavrel, eh? He’ll get you into shape. Either that, or he’ll kill you trying.”

“He can kill me as long as he doesn’t dent the armour, right?”

“You got it, kid.”

Tags: Chloddio, the four part land

Bloodaxe, my Viking-based fantasy short, is free today only through the magic of Kindle Select. It takes place in a northern fantasy kingdom, and the main character is the deposed former ruler of that land. He’s a villain with a wicked sense of humour, and a mum who’s even more skilled than he is, so Bloodaxe lets her rule while he goes a-conquering.

Reader Quotes:

It’s not often that we get to revel in the villain. Bloodaxe is a delightfully misogynistic cad, whose observations about life and people are surprisingly direct and spot on.

I love reading fantasy but I’ve never encountered anything like this. It’s a quick read, under an hour, but is so full of win!

Bweeheeheehee! This is the best book summary I’ve read in a while. Mr. Tallett, please take my dollar.

And with that I shall leave you with the blurb itself, and a link to download Bloodaxe for free!.

Bloodaxe thought he was in for a nice relax. He was, after all, dead.

And then some jumped up prick of a god told him he had to rescue a kingdom. His own kingdom, in fact. So Bloodaxe grabbed his, well, axe, and leapt back into the fray.

First, though, he had to be born. And learn not to crap his pants. Then he could get to the killing. Lots and lots of killing.

This is his story.

Tags: Other Writing

Chloddio has passed over the 100,000 word mark, as of this morning. Or, I should say, passed it again. The first draft of the novel was 106,000 words long, but after a long round of edits, I cut it back to 68,000 and have been writing new material to better flesh out the story.

It’s been a long process getting to this point, but the story feels a lot better for it. Beforehand, there were stretches of writing that described beautiful scenery, and left the plot mired in a sand trap. Those are all gone (or almost all), and the story is now much tighter, and with a lot more action in it.

The changes are going to necessitate another heavy round of edits, this time to make sure the old material merges in well with the new, but there are already readers going through the material to see if they can catch continuity mistakes. Hopefully, I haven’t written in too many.

So, now that I’ve added in over 30,000 in new material, where does the story go from here? Well, it gets an ending. A new one that suits all the new material. That will take another 10-20,000 of new material, but I’m sure I can do it before the end of April. And boy will that be a good feeling. Even if it means I need to start editing again.

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Tags: Chloddio, the four part land

Despite the rather long silence on the blog recently, I’m not quite dead, nor have I stopped writing. I’m actually under 13,000 words from the end of Chloddio, which is the next novel in The Four Part Land. The novel in question currently stands around 95,000 words written, and has been going through a fairly intensive editing process. Originally, it was 106,000 words when I finished the first draft. After two editing passes, it was 68,000.

Yes, there was a lot of useless cruft that had to be chopped and removed. Most of it describing the scenery, and day to day life. There was a lot of day to day life, and it was boring and dull. So it’s gone.

Since that second editing pass, I’ve been replotting and adding large segments to the story, and now I’m close to done. Another two weeks or so should bring me to the end of the writing pass, and then I can go back and see how much this draft needs to be edited down and rebuilt. Hopefully, not too much, because I’d like to get the book out this summer.

And, well, the other reason for my silence looked like this:

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Tags: Chloddio, the four part land

A land of speckled grey
A whisper in the mist
A hand of mottled clay
A shadow upon the grist

A bird at play amongst the skies
A figure in the shade
A child, one that dies
A darkness amidst the glade

All these things had clouded round
The village for to seek
A home, a hearth, a living speak
Yet buried upside down

Caper and dance, laugh and fall
The devil’s daily bread
Now slay them fast, now slay them all
And the leader you must behead

And piss upon his gravestone now
For tomorrow you’ll be drowned

Tags: Other Writing, Poetry

Thanks to a couple kind readers, I now have a smile stapled to my face for the rest of the day. I was working away at the day job when a G+ notification email popped up. Not something I usually get, so, hey, figured I’d look.

This is what I saw.

The summary is question:

Bloodaxe thought he was in for a nice relax. He was, after all, dead.

And then some jumped up prick of a god told him he had to rescue a kingdom. His own kingdom, in fact. So Bloodaxe grabbed his, well, axe, and leapt back into the fray.

First, though, he had to be born. And learn not to crap his pants. Then he could get to the killing. Lots and lots of killing.

This is his story.

Buy Bloodaxe

Tags: Other Writing

Last Friday, I was asked to write a guest post for Thomas Knight on fantasy architecture, for his 29 Days of Fantasy event. Writing it was a blast, and here’s an excerpt from it.

You’ve all seen Lord of the Rings, right? (If you haven’t, go watch all three, and come back tomorrow. You’ll thank me). Now, most people think about the story, the sweeping epic tale of victory through perseverance. I’m not going to talk about that. I’m going to talk about something a little duller: Architecture. Specifically, Fantasy Architecture.

In Lord of the Rings, it mostly lives in the background, created through the use of brilliant fantasy art and CG. And in fantasy stories, that’s all too often where it lives – the background. And if it’s not in the background, it’s architecture that looks Asian or European, architecture that draws on landscapes and vistas taken from the medieval world.

In both cases, the author is missing out on a wonderful opportunity to create a mood, a feeling that carries throughout the novel. Take modern architectural design – a well traveled person can look at a city and see exactly where he or she is. And that’s how architecture should be used in fantasy as well.

Here’s some fantasy art that conveys much of what I’m looking for. Yes, I know, it’s a boat, not a building. But it’s unique, and different, and I bought that book (and read it) based on just the cover. And while the architecture of your fantasy society might not sit on the cover of your book, once the reader turns to the first page, you can be damn sure it’s going to make an impression.

Okay, great, you’re saying. Architecture matters. But I’m not an architect and I haven’t got a clue how a building is designed. And it doesn’t matter. It’s called fantasy for a reason. The construction process doesn’t need to be described in detail, the building doesn’t need to pass contemporary safety codes, and the author shouldn’t let fine detail cramp a good story.

So, you want to do that. You want architecture that fits the story without taking too much space. First step – for each culture, pick one or two words or phrases that describe their architectural design. As an example, I’ll use ‘Open’ and ‘Windy’. (I’m cheating, by the way. I already built this culture). ‘Open’ – most contemporary architecture uses this to mean open plan, but think a little outside the box – remove walls. So every building has no exterior walls, aside from some grass mats that can be rolled down in a storm.

To read the rest, just click on through.

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Tags: Tips

Yes, Breaking an Empire hit the Amazon Top Ten for Epic Fantasy. Granted, it’s in the free section, but not bad for a novella that didn’t have all that much marketing behind it.

And yes, it’s still free, and will be for a little while longer. Until Bloodaxe arrives, probably.

Just in case the numbers change, here’s the screen capture.

Tags: the four part land, Unfolding a New Continent

If you’ve ever seen my author bio, it mentions that I really really love skiing.

And if you’re curious what that skiing looks like, here’s my brothers giving quite a demonstration. They’re better than I am, if you’re curious. Downside of being the oldest.

Tags: Uncategorized

Would you like to buy my epic fantasy novel Tarranau? It’s available for the low low price of $75.35. No, that’s not a typo. The used book traders on Amazon have gone crazy again.

Tags: Uncategorized

My soul sat forth, ‘pon my hand
and lectured ’bout my goal
It spoke of things far away
things dreamed in far off lands

“Go!”, it said, face all full of fury
“Go and find another one,
for I am done with thee”
And off it went, slipping from my palm

I looked around, but saw no soul
wandering then, I went
I searched high and low yet found no hint

I begged and cried and sought to steal
but never came within my grasp
Till one fine day, I settled down
my face within the grass
Life had passed me by
and I expired there at last

Tags: Other Writing, Poetry

No, I am not dead, despite all appearances to the contrary. I am, I think, quite alive. However, I have been absent from this blog for almost the entirety of December. Some of that was for good reason, some laziness. However, with the coming of the new year, I’m back.

So, I suppose this is a good time to outline a few things about where I stand with books, projects, and all those other bits of writing that I’ve got going on. You may have heard about this Splintered Lands thing I’ve been working on. Well, it’s getting closer. A lot closer. The first book should be out next year, and with luck, so should the second. There’s 3 novels, an anthology, and a novella all coming. They’re written by brilliant authors, and as the time gets closer I’ll be seriously encouraging you to go check them out.

I’ve also got a short story called King Bloodaxe coming soon. Call it a “Viking” fantasy. The story’s done, and off with readers now, and you know it’s a good thing when the first reply back is “where’s the second story?”

Finally, I’m announcing a tentative publishing date for Chloddio, second book in The Four Part Land, of July 21st. It’s currently in rewrites, although I should probably say extensions. I edited the story so fiercely the first couple times that it’s fallen below the word count I’d like to publish as a standalone print novel, so I’m writing new segments to flesh out certain subplots.

For those of you who’ve read Tarranau, this story takes place at almost the same time, and indeed many of the events in one story overlaps with the other. It begins a second trilogy that will follow Chloddio the stonemage as he seeks battle with enemies from the high tundra and the burning desert, until the path ends at the gates of his city.

And now to whet your appetite, I have a little excerpt from the story. At the time of the journey, Chloddio is a freshly recruited soldier, traveling on his first patrol through the lands of Tri-Hauwcerton.

On the seventh morning past the cave, the squad descended to a valley floor, a grey and winding passage that marched west to east. The valley itself swept around in a great crescent, and the ends were hidden from view behind mountains weathered and old. It was a desolate place, with thin grass and low bracken the only plants to be see. Here, even the patrol road shrank away to a faint trace on the ground, as if nothing could make its mark on this landscape.

The patrol swept past, Chloddio eager to be gone from this desolate place. In the high mountains, there had been a savage beauty, primal nature unscarred by the hand of man. Here, though, there was just savagery, for the beauty was stolen by the howling of the winds and the whispers of the grass.

Presently Sergeant Werilc called for the lunch halt, amidst a field of tumbledown boulders that provided some protection from the wind. Knackered, the patrol eagerly set to, and Chloddio sat himself down next to Jankoaen and Verick.

“Are there people this far out into the wilderness?”

Jank shrugged. “There have been, from time to time. Mostly bandits though.”

“Every decade or so, some poor fool who doesn’t like city life and rules decides to come out here and set up a village with his friends and family.” Verick gestured at the landscape around them. “Usually they come running back after the first winter. Those that survived, anyway.”

“There’s people that do that?”

“When you have nothing, the only thing to risk is yourself. And people don’t put too high a price on their own lives when they’re beggared and starving.”

“You know, Jank, you’re just going to depress me and the young lad. Try being cheerful for once.”

“Depressing? Me? You’re the old maid nattering on about those wilding villagers. Earth’s peace, most of those are just legends, told third hand.”

“Better my third hand than your first. Since all you do is make it up as you go along.”

“Enough, ladies.” Sergeant Werilc folded himself into a seating position. “Jankoaen’s right. The last known village north of the Carns died a full decade ago. Even the tax collectors stopped trying, and they hunt down dead people. As for the bandits, well, all of us veterans fought them up here once or twice. But even those were usually further south, trying to poach the ore from the mines. Out here? Nothing. Even the army only comes this way because it’s a shortcut. And because it gives us a little mountain and outdoor training without being too dangerous.”

Jankoaen sniffed the air. “We’re cutting it close this year, Sergeant.”

“I know. Why do you think we march so quickly?” With that the sergeant was on his feet, bellowing for the soldiers to pack their food and get back onto the road.

A clatter in the rocks behind him spun Chloddio about. Standing before him was a man dressed in furs and leathers, and carrying a crude blade. Shouting a warning, the stonemage dove to the side, grabbing at his hammer and shield. The veterans were just as fast to react, as all about the camp scruffy bandits appeared, weapons and armour crude and homemade. Standing atop a rock was the bandit’s leader, and he pointed at their packs with a sword, the blade dulled by age.

“Give us your packs, your tents, your food. Everything.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

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Tags: Chloddio, the four part land

I can hear the world reach for me. I can feel it claw at my soul. I can sense it as it runs scaly claws down my back. It will not have me.

I could fight. Perhaps. I could resist. It’s a possibility. I could rebel. A failure, certainly. But these are things that take effort, and time. I will take the easy way out, the way that lets me fly far beyond those grasping claws. I will fly.

One day.

Tags: Flash Fiction, Other Writing

I write nothing, and no one reads my stories.

I make no sound, and no one hears me speak.

I draw no art, and no one sees me paint.

I am alone.

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Tags: Flash Fiction, Other Writing

An angel screams. I am told she cries for me, that she takes my pain upon herself. She hopes to save me, it is said. She cares.

It is a sweet gesture, unexpected, kind. But I am long past saving now. I made my pact long ago, and have spent the years since searing my soul, burning it away thoroughly. I do not care.

This angel loved me. Watched me in my crib, caressed my cheek when no mortal hovered over me. All through my childhood, she guarded.

Perhaps too well. Perhaps too poorly. Either way, I turned from her light. Mayhaps my soul broke when I did, but I think it was broken before, and needed only confirmation in fire.

I killed. Men, women, children, animals. They were life. Life ends. After each death, I tapped the gun against my temple, wondering if I had earned my release.

All that, and still she cries. I would comfort her, tell her not to cry, but she cannot hear through her pain. My pain.

She lifts her eyes and looks into mine. I look back, sad. I pity her, that she pledged her life in service of another, only to be rejected. But the life was mine to live, and I did.

Tags: Flash Fiction, Other Writing

I woke up to a wonderful gift this Friday morning – A long review of Tarranau by Alex Laybourne. Here’s how it opens…

Epic Fantasy is not normally a genre I read, but ever since I have started becoming serious about my writing, I have promised myself to expand my knowledge base in as many areas as I can, and the first thing I wanted to do was to expand my reading interests.

Tarranau was the perfect book to get me started, because to summarize for all of those who do not have the time to read this but would still like to hear a few words… It was AWESOME.

As you can imagine, I was super pleased. It’s such a lovely present to see on a Friday morning.

Read on for the full review!

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Tags: Tarranau, the four part land

This is the prologue to a new story that popped into my head. As you can tell from the title, I don’t know what to call it yet, but I do love the main character. Came about from a series of audiobooks I was listening to.

My coming has long been foretold. Or rather, my return. No one predicted my coming the first time. Not very surprising, since I was the orphaned son of farmers. I know, I know, clichéd beginnings and all. Not that my parents died from anything noble. Common pneumonia, caught during a slightly worse than normal winter. And as for the farmer bit, well, there’s a lot more of us farmers than there are nobles. Stands to reason some of us are going to make a go at things.

I did, and a damn good go I made of it too. Looting, pillaging, winning battles, sacking cities, it was a grand old time. I even got given the title Bloodaxe by one of the cities I destroyed. I rather liked the imagery of it, and began to sign it as my name. It was a great piece of propaganda.

Time passed, and after a while I got bored with sacking. You see, the problem is if you sack a city, it gets mostly destroyed, and doesn’t make any money for a long time. But if you capture a city, and tax it, why, it makes money every year. So I overthrew a couple feudal lords, bundled their lands up into a nice little kingdom, and settled in as a monarch.

I never got too settled, of course. Got to keep the neighbours on their toes and weak. But after a while I got a bit older, and decided my son needed seasoning. So he took over the raiding for me. Kid’s got the nickname Forkbeard. Not quite as spectacular as my title, but he does have a damn fine beard. Took after his dad in all kinds of ways, but mostly in the fine family tradition of pillage and plunder.

So, Junior’s taking care of the military, I’m running the place (I named it Rudvic, after my old mum), and some prat shows up and says I’m going to be killed in a coup and return when the kingdom once again needs a great military leader. Me being a kind and gentle monarch, I have one of the guards punt him out the castle gate.

Of course, this silly bugger of a preacher decides he’s going to keep running his mouth about my coming doom. Now, most of the populace has the good sense to treat him like the nutter he was, but some of them actually believed him. Thinking back on it now, I should have had all of that lot slain for being gullible idiots.

I was nice and didn’t, although that was partly because all those gullible idiots started treating me like I was some kind of warrior saint who watched over the kingdom in times of need. I failed to point out that twenty years earlier, the kingdom hadn’t existed, and I had formed it by beating some nobles over the head with my axe until they wrote me into their last will and testament. Which I made sure got executed. Immediately.

Even I have my limits though, and when the prat didn’t shut up after several reminders, I had him nailed to the castle gate. Upside down. Silly bugger kept preaching right up until the moment he died. And given the coup happened about six months after he was killed, and it was Forkbeard who did it, well, maybe I should have listened a little closer. And paid attention to the fact my son really didn’t fall very far at all from the family tree. Took after dear old Dad just a little too closely there.

So, now I’m hanging around, wondering which god it was I nailed to the castle gates, and when he’s going to let me get off my ass and do a little victorious returning. Of course, I’m not sure which kingdom I’m going to be returning to. Mine fell apart in petty squabbles after my son proved he was as crap as a monarch as he was as good as a fighter. And now the lands are all bits and pieces of baronies and earldoms and ducal courts, and there’s fourteen civil wars carried on at any one time and five of them only using assassins and spies.

I thought I was ruthless, but these rulers today? They’ve made punitive taxation into an art form. Even some of the demons I run across around here are impressed. Bringing back my old style of pillage and plunder would probably be a boon to the ordinary peasants. At least I was one once.

Anyway, enough wittering on from this old fart of a warrior king. But you’ll hear from me again. I’ll come back, and when I do there’s going to be a rocking party. I can’t wait.

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Tags: Flash Fiction, Other Writing

There are times I wish a man well, and times when I wish him poorly. But most days, I do not wish a man anything, for I know him not. Instead, I walk my own way, a way that is solitary, and in that loneliness I find comfort, for I know that no other can be as alone as I am. Thus I am the saddest of my kind, and all others above me.

Yet in that sadness I find company, for many others walk the ways of sadness with me. They do not walk beside me, no, nor do they often cross my path, but I can sense their sadness in the air about me, in the muted ripples of a shallow pond, in the last whisper of a leaf as it falls from the tree. It is a comforting touch, a gift that matches my loneliness stride for stride, and one that I share with others.

For that is the gift of loneliness – it brings sadness, but in that sadness is company and a grace found in no other place. Tragic figures we are called, and pitied by all who bestow glances upon us, but that tragedy gives us meaning, gives us stature. Otherwise, my companions and I, lonely and sad as we are, would have no meaning.

Perhaps we do not, at that. But leave us our illusions. We cherish our only children.

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Tags: Flash Fiction, Other Writing

Now, you may not have noticed because I’ve been fairly quiet about it, but Breaking an Empire came out late last week. It’s a novella that details much of the backstory of Bedwar Barthu Dirio, and the war that built the kingdoms seen in Tarranau. I absolutely adored writing it, and, if I may, I shall quote an earlier post that I wrote when I finished the story.

Breaking an Empire was a short story I set out to write to bring Unfolding a New Continent up to the word limit I wanted it to be at before I started editing. It was supposed to be 25,000 words of backstory as to why the two main kingdoms of The Four Part Land hate one another so much. Effectively, it was a longer take on those history segments over on the main page. It turned out quite differently than that, for me. Oh, the story went where it was supposed to. I couldn’t change that without rewriting the setting. But I didn’t expect the six characters to mean this much to me. Every other time I’ve finished a longer piece of work I’ve been happy. It feels like a great accomplishment, and then with a little polish it’ll be great. This… this feels a little more like a loss, like closing the chapter on something that shouldn’t quite yet be over.

30,000 words from when I introduced them, here is the conclusion to the story of Rhyfelwyr, Locsyn, Taflen, Gwyth, Llofruddiwr, and Rhocas. I will miss them.

I really enjoyed writing these characters. So much so, that when the opportunity came, I wrote this, and brought these old Veryan soldiers back. I had to. I missed writing them so much I was willing to tweak the plot of books 5 and 6 of The Four Part Land series to make sure they could reappear. And, so, like the story says, the boys will be be back.

Tags: the four part land, Unfolding a New Continent